Foil
by CaptainKase
Summary: Riza says “I do,” and Roy says “I do,” and everyone applauds. Gracia would have joined them, but by that point, her hands are quite numb.


I return with an odd fic, written for **7bladed **over on LiveJournal's FMA Exchange community again. Sadly, it was not judged because I was epically slow in getting it in. It's a strange one for me, written in the more simplistic style of _Postcard Greetings _for those of you who are familiar with that. I'm not quite sure what I think of it. Initially, I didn't like it -- but I think it's starting to grow on me. I'd love to know what you guys think.

**Pairings or Characters: **Maes/Gracia, Roy/Riza, Elysia (with mentions of Al/Winry and Edward)

**Spoilers: **Spoilers for the whole series, divergent future from some point in the end. My ending: Roy stages a coup and becomes Fuhrer, Ed gets Al's body back, but not his own. (i.e. how the series should have ended ;D) – (I didn't even have to change my spoilers from my last entry!)

**Warnings:** EPIC WANGST

* * *

Her wedding had been a quiet, private affair in the wake of the Ishbal Campaign, when everyone in Amestris had been so desperate to live and love all they could before Fuhrer Bradley had the whim to fight another fruitless war, to bring down another crumbling city. Maes had still been blood-speckled and covered in grime when he came to her to propose. He didn't have a ring, the only place he could call home was a dusty room in the gloom of the military barracks, and one of the lenses on his glasses was cracked right down the center. But he smiled, crooked and beautiful, and Gracia had never wanted a rich man anyway. 

Their wedding day brought the first time she ever laid eyes on Roy Mustang, freshly turned Lieutenant Colonel. He was Maes' best man, and at the time, she'd wondered at his choice. Then he'd been frigid and silent, unkempt and unshaven. Maes had to keep leaning over and whispering in his ear when his eyes got a faraway, dreamy sort of look and it seemed as though he'd gone somewhere else.

Aside from that, everything had been frighteningly simple. She had never imagined her marriage coming with absolutely no frills attached, but on that day, there'd been a judge and Maes and Roy and her own witness. And that was it. No cake or wedding party waiting in the wings, no parents to cry or mull over their disapproval. Just Maes. Just them. When the judge had announced them married, she'd almost been surprised at how anti-climatic the whole affair had been. But then Maes had smiled that gorgeous little smile and reminded her that there didn't have to be a dress or a cake or a party – just them, just their love, just their promise.

Roy smiled for them at the end of it – bittersweet, broken. But it made Maes smile to see it, and that made her smile, and there was so much love in her heart, she could have burst.

* * *

Elysia is their flower girl. She takes to wearing her little white dress around on the days before the wedding, so when the much-anticipated day arrives, Gracia has to iron out the wrinkles twice, and wash and dry it so quickly it's a wonder Elysia isn't soggy standing at the altar. When she looks in her own closet to choose a dress to wear, she finds there isn't much she can. She has house dresses and sweater vests, slacks and faded blouses. On the very far left, there's Maes' favorite tuxedo and the plastic-covered shroud of his uniform. Most everything else she'd given to Roy or Alphonse (Edward never did fit into her husband's clothes, the poor little dear). On the very far right, there's a black dress with faded white trim, a handkerchief still poking morosely out of one pocket. It's gathering dust on the shoulders. 

"Mommy, we're gunna be late," Elysia says from the door, one chubby little fist balled up at her mouth, the other clutching two tiny white hair barrettes. She looks adorable in little white tights, creamy shoes, silky fabric. A little lady, seven years old. All of the whites and off-whites would have reflected a camera's flashbulb horribly.

"Mom?" Gracia blinks, breathes in deep and sharp.

"Elysia. I'm sorry sweetheart, I was years ago. I'll do your hair in just a moment. Would you like to help me pick out a dress?" Elysia looks up at her dubiously, Maes' pout. Her own gently furrowed eyebrows.

Eventually, Elysia foists off the black dress with a little sneer of disdain and chooses an old lavender one that Gracia had almost forgotten she had, instead.

_It looks lovely on you, Gracia, anything looks lovely on you._

"I like this color," Elysia mumbles.

"Yes," she says distantly. "Yes. I hope it still fits."

* * *

It's extraordinary in the mansion's ballroom, a sea of scarlet and cream. Roy always did look stunning and exotic in reds. Riza too. Gracia had told her that it was a delightful complement to her sienna eyes. 

Elysia gallops around at her feet and points to the bundles of flowers and the grand ice sculptures, the tuxedos and dresses, the sequins and bow ties, the fountains and ribbons and silk.

"It's so _pretty_!" She marvels, and the dim, candle-esque lighting reflects softly in her eyes. She takes it all in for a moment longer, and then – "Was your and daddy's wedding like this?" Unexpected, like an errant wave, like a stray bullet.

Gracia tugs gently on the sleeve of her lavender dress– she remembers now why she never wears it; it itches terribly. "Something like this. Not quite so many flowers though – your daddy is –"_ – was_ her mind supplies off-handedly; it had been years since she had made a slip like that– "allergic."

Elysia doesn't seem to notice though, and she nods gravely at her mothers admission, as if she'd just been told a great secret, was filing it away for future use. Gracia could almost see the mental filing cabinet opening, the heavy manilla folder marked "Dad" being carefully opened and altered to include this new little tidbit.

Elysia latches onto information about her father with a greedy, tender, passionate sort of lust.

Gracia gently reaches out a hand to touch an ice sculpture, blushes a bit when one gleaming, translucent medal on the ice-Fuhrer's lapel trickles down his icy shirt-front at her touch. With the other hand she reaches down to take Elysia's.

* * *

The first person that they see, that she knows, is Edward. He is hovering over a flower pot full of roses, clapping, then gently coaxing every bloom to fullness with a sparking, blue-laced touch. One by one by one. When he's done with that, he gently grasps the plant itself, and it spreads out and grows, creeps up the majestic column that stands tall at the perimeter of the room. Gracia just waits in silent respect, and when Edward is finished, she sees him gently pat the top of the bush with one creamy glove and whisper something to the plant that she cannot hear. He seems to be moving on to the next one when he notices them there and smiles a wide, automatic smile. 

Gracia can't help but respond with one when she feels Elysia tugging on her arm and hears her let out a desperate little whine. Edward walks to them with an odd sort of gait, a little bit tender on the left side. Gracia wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't known the boy so well.

"Ed, look at my pretty dress!" Elysia finally blurts, her arm sagging after one final, insistent tug. "I'm _flower_ girl." Edward manages to pull the most impressed face she's seen in a long time before he winks at Gracia and lowers himself gently to one knee in front of her daughter. The wince is hardly perceptible.

"You are the prettiest pair of ladies I've seen here so far, that's for sure," he says, beaming. "I think both of you owe me a dance later."

Elysia squeaks, her eyelashes flutter, and she automatically smooths a chubby little hand over the white barrettes in her hair. All she manages to get out is a squeaky little, "Yes!" Edward just rubs her head fondly and stands slowly to consult with Gracia.

"I do hope you'll have my daughter home by midnight."

"I can't make you any promises, Mrs. Hughes. Once Elysia and I start dancing, we might be out all night." Gracia chuckles a little behind her hand when Elysia blushes, but it is diluted slightly when she notices, truly, for the first time, that Edward is wearing a dress uniform. It has a fold on the sleeves and the shoulders, like its never been worn before, but he already has more stars and stripes and medals than any boy of nineteen (God, nineteen? Where did the time go?) should have. He sees her eyeing it, notes her speechlessness. "I know, isn't it stupid?" he whispers confidentially. "Iunno why he's making us all wear our uniforms. It doesn't look good with all this scarlet anyway. Mr. Pompous Fuhrer can't even leave the military out of his own goddamn wedding."

Beneath him, Elysia tut-tut-tuts him with a few sharp clicks of her tongue. "You have to put a sen in the swear jar, Ed!"

Edward smiles again.Gracia ignores the uniform momentarily, though it's all she can do not to tell him to take it off, before the military takes someone else out of her life. Just get rid of it. Instead, she says, "How are your new ports?" She can tell from how he's moving that they're still hurting him.

He just says, "They're fine." Quick and stunted. Like his recent recovery from a nearly two-year stint of automail surgery isn't something that he cares to remember. No one had ever had to have it installed_ twice_. Who knew how many complications there would be?

"How is Alphonse?" She changes the subject. To her amazement, Edward doesn't smile.

"He's fine." Quick and stunted. Like his recently restored brother isn't something he cares to remember, either. "He's around here somewhere. He was s'posed to be helping me with the decorations."

After a quick check of her watch, Gracia says, "I'm sorry Edward, but we're running very late – I'll send him back to you if I see him."

As Gracia starts away, she hears a barely perceptible, "Don't bother," closely followed by another transmutation. She doesn't turn around at it though – the sight of his slim little back framed by the harsh lines of the military uniform would just be too much.

* * *

They find Alphonse before they find out where in the world Elysia needs to be. But he's really in no condition to speak. His hand is halfway up Ms. Rockbell's shirt, her hand is smoothing over his backside, their legs are a tangled mess, and they're kissing like they'll never need air again. Elysia's mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise when she sees them, Gracia's, a little 'o' of understanding. 

"Come on, Elysia," and Elysia follows when she's pulled, but her eyes train on them like a hawk's.

* * *

Riza's maid of honor is a pretty woman with curly, black hair that hangs down past her shoulders. She can see Elysia's eyes sparkling with want at the sight of her dark painted lips – mommy's make-up drawer is an utterly forbidden thing. 

Gracia is a little concerned with just how readily she leaves her mother's care and jumps into the arms of a total stranger for little things like lipstick, like a spicier perfume, like the sequined dress that Gracia knows she could fit into, but isn't really sure she could _wear_ anymore. Gracia had adjusted to playing life as a gentle mother, and then life as a mournful widow, and now she really can't imagine being much else. But what does one do when life doesn't end when it seems like it's over?

"Bye bye, baby. I'll be watching you during the wedding."

Elysia doesn't turn back, because the maid of honor has just complimented her shoes, and Elysia is too concerned with graciously accepting the honor from this stranger to tell her own mother goodbye. Gracia turns around too, tugs on the sleeve of her frumpy lavender dress, dreads the day that Elysia turns thirteen.

* * *

Roy is in one corner of that back room, gathering his men together like he's planning some sort of charge on the altar. He looks glorious, handsome and happy – a shifter of worlds, and mover and a shaker. He had taken Amestris by the horns a few short years earlier, and he had shaken it for all it was worth. Today, Amestris is a different place, the military is full of different people, and Fuhrer Roy Mustang leads them all. 

And yet–

And yet there will always be that underlying picture she has of Roy, that first impression of weakness and despair thick and harsh enough to kill a man if he allows it to.

Now is a stark contrast to their wedding all those years ago when she was young, flushed with potential, and finally whole with Maes in her life. Maes had made both of them whole, in ways, but they are different in that with her husband gone, this man faced adversity and flourished, even as Gracia faded back into the peaceful arms of despair and let her sorrow rule her life.

Now, at Roy's wedding, he is complete and Gracia is broken. It is almost funny.

"Gracia!"

Almost.

"Hello, Roy," she says softly. He lays a flower-petal kiss on her cheek.

"How are you? How is everyone treating you?" he enthuses. Behind him, his men look at her curiously, wide-eyed, like she's some sort of sideshow over their commander's shoulder.

"Fine. Everything's fine, Roy. This house is lovely. Edward is doing a lovely job with the decorating."

"He's spoiling me," a wide, feral grin. "It's wonderful to have an alchemist on your decorating staff." He suddenly turns to his men and they all jump to attention. Gracia is a little bit startled by the suddenness of it all, and her hand flies to her heart at a remembered vision – _men at attention, and a sharp, powder-tanged salute of military-issue guns_ –

"Anyway, men. Don't forget why we're all here today! And don't forget what Hawkeye will do to you if you mess up!" A wink. "Dismissed." They scatter.

He pulls Gracia a little off to the side, guides her gently into the corner where a forgotten wedding arch, creeping with Edward's handiwork, rests.

"I'm – glad you came," he says, and his smile is softer now. It doesn't fit with his stiff, heavy dress uniform. With all those sharp medals on his lapel, his smile should be sharp-edged, too.

"Listen, I – " He bites his lip. "It's not fair that I – " The uncertainty, the fear, the loathing returns full force. This she knows. This she can relate to.

He breathes in deep, restarts. "A long time ago, Maes never thought that I would get this far. He – I owe him a very stiff drink. Would you care to take it with me, sometime?"

She's a little put-off by the question. It makes sense that Maes would have wanted to toast something like that. He was a family man. He was a wonderful, spectacularfamily man, who loved his wife and daughter more than anything in the world. Roy is suggesting a toast to his own success, and it would have been fine if Maes had been there, triumphant, as well. But he's not, and Gracia is not successful, and toasting something in Roy's life when she has nothing left to honor in her own just seems a bit self-centered.

"Yes, Roy. Sometime." She smiles a strained smile and hopes desperately that eventually, he'll forget. Most people usually do.

* * *

The wedding goes off without a hitch. She can't help but "ohh" and "ahh" with the other attendees at the room where it all takes place when everything is set to begin – climbing with vines, strewn with grandiose columns, teeming with flowers and all the sweet scents that accompany them. Elysia waves at her when she goes down the aisle, and that warms Gracia's heart a fraction before what happens next steels it with ice. 

Riza Hawkeye is a beautiful woman. Gracia has only known her as something of a casual acquaintance, but it is something that she has always been duly aware of. In that dress, though – a simple cut thing on top with a flowing, billowing trail – she is utterly stunning, and the smile on her face makes her all the more radiant. Gracia tugs on the edge of her lavender sleeve, feels mousy and plain next to this fulgent vision of beauty.

Everyone in the room seems captivated by her, and she blushes accordingly before she takes her place at the altar next to Roy, who is also a vision of dignity in his long, clean-lined uniform.

As the priest begins and then drones on, she glances around the huge, vaulted room. There are so many people, most of whom, she's certain, don't even know the Fuhrer, but can wave around cameras and flashbulbs and notebooks with the best of them. It gives the wedding a strange, impersonal sort of feeling, and yet Gracia feels strangely jealous. She tells herself that her wedding had been about the romance and promise and love, not the little things that impressed her daughter so. But oh, the room is beautiful, and so is the bride, and Gracia is hopelessly _jealous_. She can't help but think she wouldn't be half as discontent were the reason for her wedding sitting by her side. Maes had made it worth it, and even though it was wrong, with him gone, she _wanted_ intensely things she'd never known to want before.

Riza says "I do" and Roy says "I do" and everyone applauds. Gracia would have joined them, but by that point, her hands were quite numb.

* * *

The after-party is just as beautiful, and there's little doubt in Gracia's mind that Edward had had a hand in that as well. Roy and Riza take the first dance, but afterwards, Edward takes the floor with a flushed and ecstatic Elysia, Alphonse takes the floor with Winry, all manner of men and women swarm the dance floor together. Gracia sits a little bit off to the side of the floor in her lavender dress, occasionally sparing a smile when Elysia passes her, laughing over the crook of Ed's elbow like she's forgotten how to frown. 

After a few more songs, Roy lets Mr. Havoc spin Riza around the floor for a while, and she sees him picking his way through congratulatory remarks and heavy pats on the back to her place on the side of the dance floor.

Once he arrives, he elegantly extends a hand in her direction. "May I have this dance?" he asks. And then, with a sharp quirk of his lips, he smiles – dashing and handsome and excited, like the smile of so many years ago, but so, so different.

And all those many years ago, Maes would have been the link between them, would have smiled in response to Roy's smile, happy and carefree, and Gracia would not have been far behind.

But today, there is no Maes, there is no link, and she doesn't smile when she takes Roy's hand.

* * *

Feedback would be very much appreciated! ♥ 


End file.
